


For Love of Innocents

by Disneymagics



Series: Innocents 'verse [3]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Broken Jensen, Caring Jared, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Jensen, Hurt Jensen Ackles, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Infantilism, Non-sexual, Protective Christian, Protective Jared, Younger Jensen, emotional infantilism, mental age regression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-23 00:17:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3748348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Disneymagics/pseuds/Disneymagics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Several months after Hope of Innocents, Jensen is slowly finding his way in his new life.  Jared and Christian are determined to help him heal from his past abuse and show him what it means to be happy.  This is just a day, but the ending takes them all by surprise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This story isn't for everyone, I've made my peace with that. Please read the warnings carefully and enter at your own risk. My love and appreciation go to etoile_etiolee for creating the gorgeous banner, cheering me through a terrible bout of writer's block, and being a wonderful friend. Her support has been invaluable to me.  
> Warnings: Mental illness resulting in mental age regression and a form of infantilism which is emotional and not sexual in nature, mentions of past child abuse. Younger!broken!Jensen.

For Love of Innocents

_Chapter 1_

_Normal. Nondescript. Nothing to make it stand out or to bring any attention to it Nothing flashy, gaudy, or overly messy. Just like the pieces of a puzzle, everything perfectly in its place._

_The house is just as he remembers it, long hallway through the center, separating the living room on one side from the formal dining area and a stairway going up to the bedrooms on the other. The kitchen is on the first floor, in the very back. The closet is right where it's always been, under the staircase, door closed tight. He doesn't need to look inside to know what he'll find. Although it's in the perfect spot to be used as a coat closet, there aren't any coats in there, only a few ratty, old towels and some rags in a pile on the floor. Same as always._

_Jensen knows every inch of this house. He knows that the brick of the fireplace is hard enough to crack open his skull if he's pushed into it with the right amount of force and that the doorknobs cause fist-sized bruises when they gouge into his back. He knows in which drawers they keep the lighter and the scissors and in which room they store the baseball bat._

_The familiarity of it chills him as thoroughly as if he's been drenched with ice water._

_Jensen stands in the hallway all alone and trembles, hard shudders that rattle his teeth and jar his whole body. He stands and he shakes and he tries to remember what he did to make his daddy bring him back to this terrible place._

_A noise from the kitchen, a metallic clank, startles him into taking a wobbly step backwards on legs he hasn't used in a very long time._

_"It's okay, sweetie," says Daddy. "I'm right here with you. Nothing bad can happen to you while I'm here." The voice sounds hollow as it echoes down the long hallway and Jensen wonders where it's coming from and why it sounds that way. Daddy's voice is usually so rich and warm, so comforting._

_Jensen turns his head and sees Daddy Jared standing right next to him where before there had only been an empty space. The pieces of the puzzle scatter, becoming a jumbled mess. It's wrong, wrong, wrong, because Daddy doesn't belong here. Daddy is good and kind and he shouldn't be here in the bad place. Jensen opens his mouth to ask his daddy to take him away from here. He doesn't want to be here. He wants to go home. Please. Please. He'll do anything if they can just leave. But the words turn into abrasive dust and all he can do is cough and sputter as they scour the inside of his throat._

_Daddy's lips try to smile, twitching up into something that gives his face a vacant expression, like he's here and someplace else at the same time. "You're all right. Come with me. We have to go this way." His hand comes up like he's going to place it on Jensen's back to guide him forward, further into the bad house instead of out and away, but then it just hovers in the air between them. The lack of contact unsettles Jensen more than anything else has so far. When has Daddy ever withheld his touch?_

_He shakes his head and makes a grab for Daddy's arm to pull him in the opposite direction. Daddy doesn't know how dangerous it is in here. Jensen has to make him understand; he has to get them both to safety. But his hand grabs only air. Daddy is gone and Jensen is all alone._

_The hallway begins to shorten ahead of him, drawing him inexorably forward, and the kitchen gets closer even though he's sure he hasn't taken a single step. He never goes into the kitchen. Not if he can help it. Not unless no one has given him anything to eat for days and hunger is gnawing at his belly._

_The doorway to the kitchen yawns open like the mouth of some hideous beast and, even though Jensen shies away from the gaping maw, he can't escape it. Hot, moist air billows from the opening, bathing his face in steam. His heart begins to pound so hard inside his chest it feels like his ribs might shatter from the beating they're taking._

_Just as the frame of the doorway encases him Jensen finds his voice and sound gushes from his throat in a torrent, raspy and guttural. Thrashing against the wooden frame which has begun to crush him, he screams until his lungs burn from lack of oxygen. In his terror, his legs refuse to hold him up any longer and he crumples to the hallway floor, arms over his head to shield his face from the attack._

"It's just a dream, Jensen. Just a bad dream. Shhhhh, everything's okay. Come on, wake up, baby."

The words come from above him with an insistent edge even though the tone is mild, a deep rumble of sound like the low murmur of a base guitar.

Reality ripples and the fetid hallway recedes into memory. The pressure against his shoulders eases and shifts, no longer the ruthless frame of the kitchen doorway, but something much less sinister, something strong, yet more dexterous than the wooden beams conjured up by his mind.

He stops struggling against whatever is holding him down.

"That's it, wake up. Wake up, Jensen. You're all right."

The frantic beating of his heart makes it hard to catch his breath and he pants through a throat that feels scraped sandpaper raw.

"Don't be scared, it's only me. There's nothing here that's going to hurt you. Open your eyes, Jensen. Wake up and open your eyes."

Daddy.

He feels his eyebrows lift as he strives to comply, to do as he's told. There's nothing he wants more in the world than to be good for his daddy.

It takes some effort and some more cajoling before he's able to wrestle his eyes open. Once open, they dart around the room, searching for danger. The rapid heartbeat and the prickly feel of his skin brought on by high doses of adrenaline are warnings he has learned not to ignore, especially not when roused from unconsciousness. He goes very still, senses on high alert.

The room he's in is cast in shadows, lit only from a small lamp on the dresser. By the dim glow of the lamp, he sees walls painted a pale yellow and the bars of his crib. Mounds of blankets surround him, soft fleece and downy warmth. His stuffed rabbit, Mr. Bun, lies squished in a corner of the crib where he must have been pushed during Jensen's struggles. Jensen snakes a hand out of his blanket nest and pulls the white, floppy bunny into his arms.

Then he looks up into the worried face above him and the last vestiges of his nightmare fade away.

"Hey, are you awake now, sweetie? Do you know where you are?" Daddy ghosts his fingertips over Jensen's cheek, feather light, and traces the grain of Jensen's eyebrow with the pad of his thumb.

At Jensen's shy nod, the worry lines on daddy's forehead smooth out. Lowering the bars of the crib, Daddy leans in so he can get his arms underneath Jensen, careful to include Mr. Bun and Jensen's favorite blanket, the blue and yellow fleece, all wrapped up together before he lifts and carries him across the room. Jensen gets his arms around his daddy's neck and nestles in close while daddy sits down in the rocker, Jensen cradled in his lap.

The pitch black outside his window tells him that it's far from morning, which means that his nightmare must have woken Daddy up too. For a long time, they just sit and rock as Jensen tries to calm his still-pounding heart. The only sound in the entire house is the gentle whoosh and creak of the rocking chair.

Breaking the silence, Daddy whispers into the semi-darkness, "That was a bad one, huh?"

Jensen's only answer is to hide his face in the crook of Daddy's neck. He doesn't want to think about the nightmare, doesn't want to remember any part of it. If he remembers it, then it becomes too real.

It's still hard for him to separate the 'then' from the 'now' sometimes, and the nightmares only make it worse. He has ways to keep himself in this now, things he does when he's safe with his daddy that he never would have done in the mean-house. As long as he keeps certain things near him, like his stuffed rabbit, he can remember this time and this place. The mean people never let him have anything as nice as Mr. Bun so, as long as Mr. Bun is with him, he doesn't get as confused as he used to about where and when he is.

There are other things too. Like walking. He doesn't walk now, but he used to walk. Before. He remembers walking, he knows how, but as long as he doesn't walk, he knows he's not in that scary-horrible time anymore.

Daddy holds him tight, running a hand up his back to the nape of his neck where he squeezes lightly. The gentle pressure grounds him and Jensen feels the rush of adrenaline drain from his body, leaving him loose-limbed and light-headed. His eyelids begin to get heavy and he feels them close as he yawns around a thumb he doesn't remember putting in his mouth. Warm and drowsy with Daddy's arms around him, his thoughts begin to get fuzzy, distorted, and it's easy to just let them drift away, so he does.

He wakes up the next morning with sunlight streaming into his nursery, his blanket tucked under his chin, and Mr. Bun secure in the circle of his arms. The evidence of this 'where' and this 'when' are all around him.

He's home.

Stretching both arms over his head and arching his back, Jensen luxuriates in the sense of safety he gets from being inside his crib. The bars represent a barrier he can keep between himself and the world. Perhaps not a very strong barrier, but a barrier nonetheless. There's comfort inside his crib and no one else ever gets to be in it except him. It's his place, his and his alone.

Daddy will come get him at the first sign that he's awake, that's something Jensen has learned. And since he's in a quiet mood, not quite ready to get out of bed, he decides not to make any noise yet.

The door to his nursery is ajar, a sign that Jared has already been in to check on him this morning. Through the opening he can hear voices, two very distinctive voices, Daddy Jared and Uncle Christian. They must be talking in the living room. Once Jensen stills, the muffled sound of voices resolves into actual words.

"He was so scared, Chris...Jesus, I was afraid to touch him. I knew any kind of contact would only make it worse until he realized where he was. Normally, if I talk to him, call his name, I can get through to him, but last night nothing worked. I just couldn't get him to wake up. Ended up having to shake him by the shoulder and it terrified him. I could see how much it terrified him. It freaking killed me to see him like that, to know that I was causing it."

"It wasn't your fault, man. I've seen it before, seen what the nightmares do to him, and I...I don't know. There's not much you can do to help except to be there for him, let him know nothing like that is ever going to happen to him again. Given enough time the nightmares'll stop coming so often and eventually they'll stop altogether," Christian says.

"I hope you're right. I just...I want him to be happy, you know? Really happy."

"You don't think he is?"

There's a pause before Daddy answers. "I think he's...content? Maybe? I think he's found some peace here and I'm glad for that. But happy? No. I don't think so. Not that he's shown anyway, not that I can tell."

Jensen has to ponder that for a minute. Happy. He rolls the word around in his mind, pokes at it, tests it. Is he happy? It's not something he's ever given much thought to. He's not-sad, but is being not-sad the same thing as being happy? He doesn't know. He doesn't have any frame of reference for happiness.

By the time he turns his attention back to the conversation going on in the living room, they've changed topics.

"Yeah, I brought something with me I think he'll like," Uncle Christian is saying, the smile plainly heard in his voice. "Wait'll you see, it's friggin' awesome."

"Great, I've got a couple of ideas, too. One in particular I'm going to need your help with. It involves climbing that big oak tree in the backyard."

Jensen hears a snort and then, "Do I look like a lumberjack to you?" But Christian sounds mostly amused.

"Hey, I thought you were all about serving and protecting, man. Isn't that what the badge says?"

"Yeah, right. And climbing trees fits into that how? I don't remember volunteering for tree climbing duty."

"I don't know exactly, but since you're better at that kind of thing than I am, you've been volun-chosen for the task."

"Volun-chosen? Really? You just made that up, didn't you? What have I told you about making crap up, Jared?"

There's another amused-sounding huff and Jensen begins to feel like he's missing out by staying in bed. Even though Christian makes a point of coming over frequently, Jensen doesn't want to sleep through his visit. Sitting up in the crib causes the frame to rattle slightly and that's enough to bring his daddy to the door where he peaks in, smile and dimples appearing when he sees Jensen is awake.

"Hey baby, you're up. Ready to get out of bed and have some breakfast with me and Christian?"

Reaching out to signify that he wants to be picked up, Jensen smiles back and nods, very much aware that Daddy wants him to be happy and that happy people smile. His effort is rewarded by a brilliant grin from Jared as he hurries across the room to lift Jensen out of the crib.

"That's good because Christian is making his famous french toast and we're gonna use the real maple syrup Misha brought us from his vacation to Saguenay last month."

They must have been holding breakfast until he woke up because all the ingredients - a loaf of bread, eggs, milk, and cinnamon - are already on the counter along with the electric skillet. The kitchen table is set with a glass of orange juice, plate, fork and knife for each of them.

Silverware gets placed in front of him for every meal even though Jensen's not sure why. He never uses it.

Christian busies himself at the counter and soon Jensen's mouth begins to water at the smells of bread frying in the skillet and syrup warming in the microwave. It doesn't take long for the plates to be filled with a steaming slice of french toast each with syrup poured on top.

Jensen can hardly wait for his first bite and cranes his neck forward, mouth open, to get at the forkful of french toast Daddy holds out to him. It's delicious. Humming, he chews and swallows and enthusiastically opens his mouth for the next morsel. Crispy on the outside and soft on the inside, each bite-sized square is drenched in syrup. The sticky, sweet stuff coats his lips and dribbles down his chin.

When the last of it is gone, he stares wistfully at the plate. He wants more, but he dares not let his daddy know. It's bad to be greedy. Asking for food means he's greedy and naughty. Asking for more food after he's already been given some makes him an evil boy. It's one of the worst things he can do and something that has always earned him the harshest punishments. Jensen doesn't want Daddy to think he's a naughty boy who deserves to be punished. The other people thought he was very bad, but Daddy doesn't. Not yet anyway.

Jensen waits to see if maybe more food will come without him doing anything to show how much he wants it.

It doesn't.

Daddy thanks Christian for cooking. Christian says it was no problem. Neither of them seems to be paying much attention to him. Jensen licks the sweet syrup from his lips and looks at the empty plate in front of him. A puddle of syrup remains there, drizzled in haphazard patterns. He can't seem to look away; it's like he's mesmerized. Before he can question what he's about to do, he puts a finger in the puddle, smears it around and pops it in his mouth.

Finger in mouth, he looks up to see both Jared and Christian looking at him, disbelief plainly written on both their faces. The enormity of what he's just done hits him full force then and his breath stutters, his throat constricts.

Eyes wide, he sucks hard on the sugary digit and steals himself for his punishment. He doesn't know what made him take that last bit of syrup. He wants to crawl away and hide, but he won't. He wants to slide onto the floor, slink into a corner, and disappear somehow, but he won't do any of those things either. Even though he can't stand the thought of seeing bitter anger fan into life and blaze from his daddy's eyes, he has to stay and take his punishment because maybe, if he gets it over with, things can go back to the way they were before he was so bad and he can crawl into Daddy's lap and Daddy will hug him and tell him it's going to be alright.

He darts a glance at Daddy and then at Christian, wary and uncertain as to where the punishment will come from. But Daddy's shoulders are shaking and he has one hand over his mouth as though he's about to either laugh or cry and Christian's eyes are bright to the point of sparkling.

"You want more, kiddo? I'll make you more if you want it," Christian husks, getting up to turn the skillet back on without waiting for a response.

The absence of any kind of reprisal for stealing food comes as more of a shock than if his finger had been yanked out of his mouth and bent backwards until the bone snapped. Stunned, Jensen blinks at the back of Christian's head where he's standing at the counter, dipping another piece of bread into the egg batter.

When it's ready, Christian puts the golden brown french toast on his plate and Daddy cuts it into small squares before he drowns it all in more syrup.

Jensen doesn't understand what's going on; he can't figure it out. Shouldn't he be in trouble right now? Why isn't Christian going to get the baseball bat? Shouldn't Daddy be yelling? Daddy isn't yelling though. Daddy is watching him with an expectant, hopeful expression.

Christian nudges the plate a little closer to Jensen's place at the table, looks pointedly at the fork lying untouched nearby. "Go ahead, Jensen, it's all yours."

Daddy sits back in his chair, clasps his hands together in his lap as though to keep them from touching something he ought not to, and says, "I know this is a big step for you. This is huge, I get that. But I think you're ready."

Then Christian and Daddy freeze. They're both sitting so still that Jensen wonders if they're even breathing. The air in the kitchen, fragrant and warm, seems to hold them motionless under some kind of spell. It's like they've been turned into stone or ice and are waiting for someone to come along and break the curse, waiting for _him_ to break the curse.

Jensen's finger slips from his mouth, slick with saliva. Slowly, he reaches out to touch the fork, feels the cool metal against his skin, the faint prick as he rubs his thumb over the tines.

Still, nobody moves and Jensen is really confused. He can tell they want him to do something even though he's mystified as to what it is he's supposed to do.

Without taking his eyes from his daddy's face, he closes his fingers around the handle, lifts the fork, and hesitantly brings it to his plate where he lets it hover over the food while he waits for some kind of reaction, a clue as to whether he's doing the right thing.

The corners of Daddy's lips twitch up and he gives a quick nod, just the briefest jerk of his head, as though anything more will cause something terrible to happen.

Christian whispers an almost inaudible, "Yes, that's it."

Anticipation makes a shiver run down Jensen's spine, makes his heart flutter like a caged bird, because this is really big. It's huge and Daddy may think he's ready, but Jensen's not sure, he's not sure at all.

He could put an end to this right now. It would be so easy to simply put the fork down and let things continue on the way they've been. Nothing monumental needs to happen here this morning. Everything is okay the way it is and Jensen is maybe not good, maybe not great, but he's...fine. He is content.

Dropping his gaze to the plate, he watches the steam rise. In spite of the anxiety twisting his stomach, his mouth starts to water again. He remembers how yummy it is and he wants another taste. The fork trembles in his hand as he spears one of the corner pieces and shoves it into his mouth before he can change his mind.

No sooner has he pulled the fork from his lips than the kitchen erupts with joyful noises. Daddy whoops, jumps out of his chair and pulls Jensen into a fierce hug. Christian comes around the table to hug them both, ruffling Jensen's hair and slapping Jared on the back.

"You did it! I knew you could!" Daddy says.

It startles him at first, all the ruckus, but then he gets it. He did something right, he did something that made his daddy happy, that made Uncle Christian happy. There's a warmth in his chest that spreads throughout his entire body, thawing some of the fear and uncertainty. It's a good feeling.

Jensen finishes off the rest of his breakfast and each bite tastes better than the one before. Syrup gets all over his hands and face. Some even manages to get in his hair. At one point, he accidentally puts his elbow in his plate. He's a mess.

No one seems to mind.

** **


	2. Chapter 2

For Love of Innocents

_Chapter 2_

There's something special about today, starting with the french toast breakfast and now _this_. This is new. Jensen has never seen anything like it before.

Instead of his uniform, Christian is wearing a pair of faded jeans, a long-sleeve shirt and some work boots. The shirt has splatters of old, dried paint on it as if he'd known he was going to wind up perched in the branches of a sturdy oak tree and shouldn't wear anything he cared greatly about.

A long, thick length of hemp rope dangles from Christian's waist where it's tied like a belt so that his hands are free for climbing. A painter's ladder leans against the tree within reach of the branch Christian is straddling. He stands, wobbles for a second, arms stretched at his sides to help him regain his balance, and then grabs a higher branch, wraps his arms around it and hauls himself up.

"Careful," Daddy calls out, cupping his hands around his mouth like a megaphone.

"I'm being careful," Christian grunts as he swings his leg over the next branch. "This is nothing. The obstacle course at the academy was a much bigger challenge."

From his seat on the ground, Jensen watches, head tilted way back and mouth open in amazement. A cool breeze blows his dark blond hair into his eyes and he briskly swipes it to the side so he doesn't miss a second of the proceedings.

Spring has come early this year, at least that's what Daddy says, but Jensen gets cold easily and the chill wind goes right through him. He tugs his light-weight jacket closer around his thin shoulders, crosses his arms in front of his chest to preserve heat, and nibbles on his lower lip.

The branch Christian is heading for, a massive limb that makes a nearly perfect right angle to the trunk, isn't too much farther. Once he gets there, he unwinds the rope from his waist and loops it around the trunk. Then he fashions some sort of intricate knot and gives it a couple of tugs. The knot holds and Christian must be satisfied with his work because he turns around and begins to retrace his path back down the tree to the ladder, leaping from a rung about midway on the ladder to land with a flourish.

Jared slowly claps his hands twice. "Yes, you're very impressive. Reminded me of a giant squirrel the way you scaled that tree, man."

Christian swaggers as he walks over and puts a hand on the back of Jensen's neck. "Shut up, you're impressed and you know it. Jensen's impressed too, aren't you kiddo?"

Jensen leans into Christian's leg and looks up, giving him a bashful smile. He's gotten used to the way his daddy and uncle tease each other sometimes. They only do it when they're both in good moods and having fun, so Jensen has come to look forward to the friendly banter.

The next thing that happens is much less dramatic although it's just as strange. Daddy goes to the shed at the side of the house and returns with a tire so big it easily comes to above his hip as he rolls it along in front of himself.

"Now _that's_ a tire. Where did you get that monster?" Christian's eyebrows hike up until creases appear on his forehead.

"Went to the salvage yard and asked for the biggest one they had."

"Dude! It's ginormous!"

Daddy's lips quirk up in a lopsided grin, giving him the appearance of a mischievous child. "Right?"

Between the two of them, they heft the tire off the ground, Daddy holding it in place while Christian attaches it to the free end of the suspended rope with another series of complicated knots.

"Sometimes, it pays to have gone through the Scouting program," Christian says once he's tested the knot to make sure it's secure.

"Apparently so," Daddy replies. "And as your reward, you can have the first turn." He graciously backs away from the tire to stand next to Jensen a respectable distance away, bending over to card his fingers through Jensen's hair and say, "Watch this, Jensen. Watch Uncle Christian."

"I can see right through you, Jared. You just want me to be the guinea pig. Well, I'm not falling for your little ploy." Despite his words, Christian doesn't hesitate to grab the tire, pull it as far back as the rope will allow, and launches himself to the top.

Jensen stares, awe-struck.

The tire jiggles erratically under the sudden weight and then evens out as it glides forward and back, Christian balanced on top with his legs stretched in front of him, crossed at the ankles.

"Shoot, this brings back memories." Christian hoots, obviously delighted. "My parents took me and my brother to this cabin in Tennessee one summer, up in the Smoky Mountains. I must've been about nine. There was a tire swing that went out over a cliff, an honest-to-God cliff. It probably wasn't as high up as I remember or my parents never would have let us use it, but at the time it seemed like we were swinging out over a mile-deep chasm. It was awesome!"

"Figures you were a dare devil as a little kid," Daddy says.

"What gave it away?" From the smile on Christian's face, it looks as though he's reliving that summer in Tennessee as a boy. He whoops while he shifts his body weight in tandem with the movements of the swing, causing the tire to go higher on each subsequent pass.

Jensen has never seen Christian like this, face flushed and blue eyes bright. He wonders what it must feel like to be up there, if it feels as amazing as it looks.

Daddy crouches down to Jensen's eye level and gives him an assessing look. "You ready for your turn, baby?"

The question startles him.

He hadn't thought to be given a turn.

This is the kind of wonderful treat that's only offered so it can be snatched away again as soon as he gets his hopes up. And then everyone laughs because it's so funny that he could actually believe they were going to give him the cookie or the ice cream cone or the shiny new toy. They laugh and they point at him and they say ugly, mean things.

His eyes fill with tears as he slowly turns his gaze from his daddy's earnest face to watch Christian bring the tire swing to a stop and hop off. He wants a turn on the swing so badly that he can feel the desire surge through him, making his jaw muscles clench. The deep-rooted want thrums and vibrates all the way into his bones.

Brow furrowed, Daddy cups his cheek and wipes away the tears as they begin to fall. "What's wrong, honey? Are you scared?" he whispers, voice soft. "Are you afraid you'll get hurt? Because I won't let that happen."

Jensen's breath hitches as he shakes his head. No, he's not scared of getting hurt, at least he's not scared of the kind of hurt Daddy means. He's not afraid of falling. There are worse hurts than broken bones. There are the kinds of hurts that never truly heal, the ones that leave gapping wounds on the inside. Jensen covers his stomach and the scar hidden under layers of clothing with both hands.

Daddy seems to get it. His concerned expression is replaced with one of understanding and then grim determination. "We built this swing for you, Jensen. It's your swing and you can have a turn on it any time you want. The only reason Christian went first was to show you that it's safe." Daddy kisses his forehead. "No one is going to keep you from it. Not ever."

Jensen marvels at how his daddy just seems to know what to do, what to say, to make everything better. He sniffles and closes his eyes, reminds himself that things are aren't the same as they used to be. This is 'now', not 'then'.

When he opens them again, Christian is standing next to him, face grave. "I'm sorry if I did something to upset you. I didn't mean to."

Shaking his head back and forth hard enough to make himself dizzy, Jensen grabs Christian's shirt and pulls him down into a hug which his uncle returns fiercely.

Their back yard adjoins an open field in the rear and undeveloped land on each side. They have no neighbors to speak of and very little traffic travels the road in front of their house. With no one around to tell him he's not allowed to get on the swing, Jensen lets his daddy pick him up and get him situated on top of the tire. Daddy makes sure he's secure, that he has a good hold on the rope and then Christian pulls the tire back and back and back.

And when he releases it...Jensen feels like he's flying.

He's soaring.

It's...it's magnificent.

The stiff breeze whips his hair away from his face as though it's something alive and playful. Gripping the coarse rope in both hands, he leans forward and breathes in a huge lungful of cool, crisp air, his earlier chill forgotten. There's a moment, just as he reaches the highest point, where he's weightless, as light as a helium-filled balloon. During that brief fragment of time, he thinks he could float away and leave his past behind him forever.

Jensen smiles. He's not certain if this is what happiness feels like, but he thinks this must be what freedom feels like. Nothing binds him or constricts him. Open space surrounds him, above as well as below him, with not a wall or door to be seen in any direction. He can't be locked in or shut out. Here, he can just be.

Here, on his swing, he's free.

~*~*~*~~*~*~*~

After Jensen has played on the swing to his heart's content, they go back in the house for a diaper change and lunch. Then they go to the living room to relax. They sit on the couch, all three of them, with Jensen in the middle. This would normally be Jensen's nap time, but since Christian is spending the day with them, Jensen doesn't want to take a nap.

Daddy gives him that assessing look again, clearly skeptical. "Are you sure? You've had a busy morning. Aren't you sleepy?" He waggles Mr. Bun as though the stuffed bunny might entice him into changing his mind. "Christian will still be here when you wake up."

It's true that he's been more active than he's used to and maybe he's a little bit tired, but he's not going to let that slow him down. Taking Mr. Bun, he holds the soft fur against his cheek and shakes his head.

"Well..." Daddy pauses to scratch his nose. "I guess it's okay for you to skip your nap. Just this once."

A snort comes from Christian's side of the couch, but when Jensen glances over at him, he's got the back of his hand pressed to his mouth, his eyes wide and innocent. "If that's settled, I have something I want to share with you, kiddo," he says.

Christian has a book on his lap. It has a funny cartoon picture on the cover. There's a little boy with spiky, blond hair and a tiger. They're lounging on a tree branch, eyes closed with smiles on their faces, as though they haven't got a care in the world. The boy is holding an orange water balloon.

"This is my favorite comic strip series. I've had this book since I was in high school," Christian tells him.

Opening the book to a random page, Christian begins to read while pointing to the pictures in each cartoon frame. Jensen snuggles in close to listen, Mr. Bun held loosely in one arm, the other hand fisted in the sleeve of Christian's shirt.

The first picture he points to shows the boy and the tiger walking through some snow. " _When a kid grows up, he has to_ _ **be**_ _something. He can't just stay the way he is,_ " Christian reads the bubble attached to the boy. In the next frame, the two stop to look at each other. " _But a tiger grows up and stays a tiger. Why is that?_ " asks the boy. A self-satisfied grin on its furry face, the tiger answers, " _No room for improvement._ " The final frame shows the boy, shoulders hunched in disappointment, and the tiger smiling at him. " _Of all the luck, my parents had to be humans,_ " grumps the boy. " _Don't take it too hard. Humans provide some very important protein,_ " replies the tiger.

Daddy rests his chin on the top of Jensen's head so he can see the book too. Jensen can feel the chuckle rumble through his chest where it touches Jensen's back. It's nice.

Christian turns the page and reads about the boy and his tiger making an entire army of snowmen. Other pages contain comic strips about the boy and his tiger forming the Get Rid of Slimy Girls club - GROSS - and pelting the little girl who lives down the street with water balloons. There are even sections devoted to the boy pretending to be a spaceman on wild adventures across the galaxy.

Jensen is intrigued by how much the boy gets away with. He's not a good boy. Not at all. He's mischievous and willful, disobedient and ornery. Yet...no one ever hits him or stabs him and when they yell at him, he doesn't seem to care much. His worse punishments consist of being sent to his room where he has toys to play with and his friend, the tiger, is always there with him. Jensen's punishments were nothing like that. Jensen finds that he enjoys listening to the boy's exploits even though they are so far outside of his own experiences that they seem unfathomable to him.

They've gone through half the book before Jensen catches on that the tiger is a stuffed toy, only alive in the boy's imagination. The realization makes him hold Mr. Bun at arm's length to gaze into his soulful eyes, trace the rabbit's whiskers with his fingers, and give him a scratch behind the ears.

Daddy kisses Jensen on the temple. "I bet Mr. Bun seems real sometimes too," he says, displaying his knack for knowing exactly what Jensen is thinking once again. "He's a good friend."

Mr. Bun is a good friend. Jensen nods and gives the rabbit a hug as he burrows under Christian's arm so he can use his shoulder as a pillow. Christian accommodates him by lifting up his arm and letting it settle around his shoulders once Jensen is nestled against his side.

As the afternoon winds down, Jensen begins to get sleepy in spite of himself. Cozied up to his uncle on one side and his daddy on the other, he feels relaxed, the warmth of their bodies acting like a sedative on him. It becomes a struggle to open heavy eyelids after every blink. The pictures in the book get blurry, the images grow indistinct as even the muscles in his eyes begin to tire. The deep, base register of Christian's voice and the smooth cadence of his words soon lull Jensen into a light doze.

A hand stroking his cheek pulls him back from the brink of oblivion. "Nuh-uh, no sleeping, Jensen." Daddy's voice says. "You fall asleep now and you won't be tired tonight."

Christian huffs out a soft chuckle. "I guess we'll have to finish this another time."

The movement of what must be his uncle closing the book jostles his shoulder which in turn dislodges Jensen's head. Jensen protests the loss of his pillow by making a small whimper of discontentment.

He's so tired. If Christian won't be still and let him sleep, he'll just have to try a different position. Without opening his eyes, he shifts around and cuddles into his daddy's bulk, head against his chest where he can hear the soothing thump of his heart. It's a good spot for sleeping, one he's very familiar with.

Before he can drop off though, there are more nudges. "No baby, I'm sorry, but I can't let you fall asleep now or your schedule will be all out of whack." Daddy's voice somehow sounds regretful and amused at the same time.

"Come on, Jared, let the poor boy sleep. It's been a long day. He's all in."

"You're no help, Kane. And you're only saying that because you'll be long gone by the time midnight rolls around and someone," here there's a pause, "is wide awake and cranky."

There's no need to wait until midnight, Jensen is beginning to get cranky right now. He lifts his head and opens his eyes to look at his daddy, lower lip poked out and trembling.

Eyes locked on the pout, Daddy's expression softens immediately. "Oh sweetie, don't do that to me," he husks as he lightly presses a thumb to Jensen's lip, stopping the quiver. He bites the corner of his own lip for a second and then says, "Hold on, I've got an idea."

With that he's off the couch and Jensen has no choice but to sit up from his slouch or topple onto the floor.

"We need music. Something with a good beat to get our blood pumping." Daddy crosses the room to where his iPod rests in its docking station, speakers on either side.

"This oughta be good." Christian sets his book on the coffee table and sits forward, elbows resting on his knees as though he's ready for just about anything. "Your taste in music has always been questionable. I'm almost scared to find out what's on your play list."

"You're right, my judgement clearly can't be trusted. After all, I like most of the songs _you_ play."

Music pours from the speakers, as sweet and mellow as the warm syrup from breakfast, and Jensen recognizes it as one of the country songs Christian plays for him sometimes. Daddy quirks an eyebrow at his friend, but doesn't comment other than to shake his head and tap on his iPod again. The song breaks off mid-note to be replaced by a different one.

A female voice, accompanied by a guitar, sings of how she has to move on, to fly, to leave everything she knows behind and break away. It reminds Jensen of his new swing and how it makes him feel like he can touch the sky, up where no one can punish him and walls don't exist. It's a wistful song and only a few bars play before Daddy makes a tsking sound with his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

He taps a third time and a pulsing beat fills the room. There are no vocals for several bars, just the thump, thump, thump of a single note played over and over again.

"Yeah," Daddy says. "This is perfect." He turns up the volume, puts the iPod back in its cradle and begins bopping his head along with the rhythm. His hand smacks the side of his thigh as he bites down on his lower lip. It makes him look kind of silly.

A heavy lassitude still weighs down Jensen's limbs, but it's pleasant to sit on the couch, music swelling around him, Christian an indulgent, warm presence next to him while they watch Daddy do...whatever it is that Daddy is currently doing. Jensen yawns, his eyes fall to half-mast.

When the lyrics start, Daddy joins in, belting out the words in a voice too loud to stay in key. "I've got a feeling, woo hoo, that tonight's gonna be a good night, that tonight's gonna be a good night, that tonight's gonna be a good, good night." He puts his hands in the air and shakes them in time with the music. He wiggles his butt.

Christian hoots out a short bark of laughter.

Jensen can't be sure, but he thinks Daddy is trying to dance. He jerks and sways and flaps, all the while singing as loudly as possible. "Go out and smash it, like Oh My God, jump off that sofa, let's kick it...OFF." On that beat, he strikes a pose, fist in the air, head cocked to the side, his thick, brown mop of hair falling into and covering his face. Through the mask of hair, Daddy peeks at Jensen. He looks ridiculous and it's just..it's so...funny.

A smile tugs on the corner of Jensen's lips. A tickly, bubbly sensation, like the carbonation from a can of shaken soda, starts to build in his chest. It grows stronger, bigger, expanding inside him until he can't contain it.

The laugh bursts from his mouth, a stream of absolute delight. His body convulses with it.

Daddy is being goofy _for him_. The realization is like a soothing balm on his shattered psyche. This is all for his benefit, the breakfast, the tire swing, the cuddles, the dancing. Daddy does things all the time, just because he wants Jensen to be happy.

Christian's booming laughter joins his as Daddy falls to his knees in front of the couch, eyes wide in astonishment.

He takes both Jensen's hands in his larger ones. "You're laughing! You don't...I've waited such a long time to hear that sound, to hear you laugh. You have a great laugh, Jensen, the best I've ever heard."

Jensen isn't used to this. It's strange, this light, airy feeling. His face heats up. He's a little embarrassed to have Daddy looking at him that way, like he's done something amazing and wonderful, like Daddy is proud of him.

He doesn't think he's done anything to be proud of, but he is certain of one thing. He's certain that this...this is what happiness feels like.

The End.

A/N: Here's a youtube video of The Black Eyed Peas performing "I've Got A Feeling" on Oprah's show in Chicago. The flashmob dance is where I got my visual for Jared's dance. If this video doesn't make you want to get up and groove, I don't know what will. [http://www.youtube.com/watch?hl=en&client=mv-google&gl=US&feature=related&v=OnOtLbYtGL0&rl=yes&nomobile=1](http://www.youtube.com/watch?hl=en&client=mv-google&gl=US&feature=related&v=OnOtLbYtGL0&rl=yes&nomobile=1)


End file.
